


Does Your Heart Beat Slower

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Azkaban, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Malfoy Manor, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Pureblood Politics, endgame Dransy, mentions of Draco/Voldemort, not between Draco/Pansy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Draco had no idea it would be like this. Pansy will use all of her Slytherin cunning to save him, even if she can’t have him for herself.





	Does Your Heart Beat Slower

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains descriptions of sexual assault. It is “off-screen” but is a major component of the story. Please heed the warnings. 
> 
> I started writing this in summer of 2017 right when I was coming back into HP fandom. I’ve set it aside for some time, partially because of time constraints, but also because it was difficult to write. I wanted to give Draco and Pansy a happy ending but one that felt true. 
> 
> Thank you to Blowfish_Diaries for your excellent and fast beta!
> 
> Title is from a June of 44 song.

***

_Dictate directions / modify the beaten path / she’s waiting for this /_

_she’s waiting for him / shame, shame_

***

 **I**  


Pansy has never seen the Manor looking so gloomy. She and her father have been invited to dinner tonight, but a frantic owl from Draco begging her to come early has brought her to the house alone. An unnamed house elf, cringing more than usual, takes her coat at the door and directs her towards the parlour. When she gets there Draco already has a glass of what looks to be firewhisky. "Tea?" he offers her in a blank voice.

"I think I will just have what you're having." He looks up in surprise. Pansy rarely drinks. Shrugging, he pours her a glass, but after one burning taste she sets it aside.

"What's this about, Draco? Why did you call me here?"

"Can't I just miss you?" He’s been called home often this year, regularly skipping classes.

"I miss you too, but I don't think it's about that."

He glances around nervously. "Let's talk somewhere quieter." The parlour is silent as a grave already, but Pansy agrees. "The gardens?"

"I was thinking my bedroom."

Her eyes widen. "That's hardly appropriate." Draco's mother would never let them upstairs unsupervised.

His mouth twists. "No one cares." He walks out of the room, leaving Pansy to follow and wonder what on earth is happening.

***

Draco’s room is less gaudy than she expected. Understated dark blues and greens, with the barest hint of silver, and very few personal items on display. He still clutches his glass of firewhisky, now topped up, and the ice clinks as he paces. Finally he breaks his silence.

"You have to save yourself Pansy. If they ask you to join, don't."

Pansy stays frozen to the spot. "What happened to you, Draco?"

"It's nothing like I expected," he whispers. "Nothing. It's just terror and waiting in the night."

"Waiting for what?" Her voice is quiet as his.

"For someone to be tortured, someone to be killed, someone to be... and it might be you, it might be someone you love, you never know what's coming."

He shakes his head to snap himself out of it. "You have to pretend to be weak. Dolohov will be here for dinner, he does recruitment. Act sick, act dumb, I don't care. Don't make yourself a target. Go back to Hogwarts and survive this for me, Pansy."

All she can do is nod.

***

Dinner is being set when Draco and Pansy wind their way down the back stairs. They appear at the main doors, as if they have been in the parlour the entire time. Narcissa Malfoy sits at the table already, along with Pansy’s father, Dolohov and two men she doesn't recognise. Three more places are set.

Three.

She and Draco sit at two of them, Pansy beside Narcissa, he between her and the empty setting.

"Is Mr. Malfoy joining us?" she asks politely.

Dolohov sneers, "Someone a lot more important." Draco goes paler than she's ever seen him, and a rustle of robes alerts her to the arrival of another guest.

It's Him.

"Ah, the famous Malfoy hospitality. You can always be counted on, Narcissa, to... provide." He sits at the empty place setting.

Pansy is, to use a Gryffindor word, freaking out. She's never seen him in person. His eyes have a red glow behind them, his nose no more than two slits in his face. He's inhuman.

The elves begin serving, with polite conversation about the food and snide comments from Dolohov echoing in the otherwise coffin-like room, and Pansy's father doing his best to be obsequious but understated. This goes on for about 15 minutes. She contributes nothing to the conversation except for 'yes of course' and 'mm-hmm' and tries to appear unconcerned about anything.

She wonders why Voldemort (a name she will only ever use in her head) hasn't taken a place at either side of the table, instead leaving Dolohov at the head and an empty space at the end.

When Draco suddenly stiffens at her side, she gets her answer.

Voldemort has very casually, very carefully placed his hand on Draco's thigh.

Everything Draco was trying to tell her upstairs hits her like a Bludger to the face. _Waiting in the night._ Oh Morgana, he's _touching_ him. The Dark Lord is touching Draco, and it's with a sick familiarity.

And there's nothing she can do.

Pansy continues to choke her food down, pretending not to wince as Voldemort's skinny grey finger starts to trace a pattern on Draco's leg. Her best friend looks as if he'd rather be six feet under, but he contributes to the conversation and slowly eats his dinner.

"And how is the school faring under our friends the Carrows, Miss Parkinson?" It takes her a moment to come back from the pit of horror her mind has become and realise the Dark Lord is speaking to her.

"School is wonderful, my lord. A true wizarding institution as it always should have been. Classes aren't any easier though!" She giggles inanely, and knows what her strategy must be. She must pretend to be too stupid to be afraid. The Dark Lord counts on fear to keep his followers in line. Those unafraid of him are foolish resistance fighters like Potter, or those too dumb to know the threat he poses, and are useless because he can't control them. The former, he kills. The latter, he ignores.

Voldemort appears almost bemused. "You find classes difficult?"

"Yes, but that hardly matters. Father will arrange my future." She smiles sweetly at her father. "The most concerning thing about school right now is of course the owl post."

"The... owl post?" Voldemort seems genuinely perplexed, and she'll laugh hysterically at the look on his face later. "Oh yes, the post has been having a dreadful time coming through because of these absurd mudbloods and sympathisers fighting the ministry. None of my orders from Twilfit and Tattings have arrived in weeks."

With that she returns to her mince pie, pretending to find it supremely delicious. Voldemort gives her a long look, and she knows he could read her mind, but none of the things she has said are untrue. Her father will arrange her future, the Carrow's curriculum is too convoluted to follow, and her new robes are still delayed. She keeps these truths front and centre in her mind, and hopes he will take them at face value and decline to probe the thoughts of an air-headed seventeen year old girl longer than he has to. After what feels like hours but must be less than a minute, he seems to find her lacking, and turns back to Dolohov.

And just like that, Pansy is safe.

Draco, however, remains firmly in his clutches, both literally and figuratively.

***

"I wish you hadn't seen that," Draco says quietly after dinner, when they have successfully navigated the back stairs unseen yet again. Narcissa is slipping in her steely-eyed watch over the Manor.

Pansy wonders if she is too oblivious to see what is happening to her son, or is hiding from the truth because she has seen and knows she can't stop it. Either way, it's gross negligence, and she wonders if things will ever be alright between Draco and his parents if they all come through this alive.

He's trying to stay perfectly composed, even though they are alone and she knows him so well.

"Anyway, that's why you need to stay away. I think you did a lovely job of it at dinner. I've never seen you seem so vapid."

"Well, I just tried to imitate Lavender Brown." Her attempt at humour falls flat. After a minute of silence, she can't stand it anymore. "Draco, you have to get out of here!"

He shakes his head. "You know I can't do that. I'm Marked, Pansy. Where would I go? Turn tail and run? He'd find me. Defect? I tried to kill Albus Dumbledore. I'll never get near the Order of the Phoenix, they'd curse me first and ask questions later. I'm stuck here. And I can't leave my mother alone. Merlin knows what he would do to her."

"But what is he doing to _you?_ Draco he hasn't - I mean, my father is here, with a draft contract, what if -"

Pansy's father has several draft contracts to sell her off to the highest bidder. The one for Lucius and Narcissa to peruse is the coup, of course. The Malfoys are the richest and most well-connected of her prospects. Choice number two is a second cousin of Gregory Goyle, from a rich branch of the family living in Germany the last two generations. They are mostly removed from the war.

She and Draco have always interacted with the possibility in mind, and it's lucky for them that they've become such close friends, and are even attracted to each other. While they've never let their feelings go beyond affection -because nothing is set in stone -  they've acknowledged that they are each other's first choice, and are basically known as a couple at school. Still, they've never done much more than kiss; once in sixth year, when he looked so depressed, Pansy let him put his hand up her shirt to try to cheer him up.

But being a virgin is especially important to a contract of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and there are spells to easily determine that which are part of any standard engagement ceremony.

Draco shakes his head. "If I went into marriage anything other than a perfect little Pure-blood, that would be a terrible insult to my family. The Malfoys haven't fallen quite that low, yet. He won't... won't... "

"Nevermind, you don't have to say it. We don't have to talk about it, Draco."

"He won't put it in me." The words come out in a rush, and Draco looks both nauseous and relieved to have gotten them out. Now that he's talking, he can't help but tell her the rest.

"He... pulls on me. And licks me. And sometimes he puts his... his fingers..." He doesn't finish that sentence.

"Sometimes he does it just to play, for a few minutes if he's busy. Sometimes he makes me stroke him until he comes. It feels cold." Pansy knows what he means by _it._

"Sometimes... he does it long enough that he makes me come." She's never seen Draco look ashamed like this, all his confidence drained. The admission finally breaks his composure. "I don't know why it happens! I don't want it!"

"Of course you don't! You're a teenage boy, a house-elf could probably make you come, Draco. Don't blame yourself. He's disgusting."

"Last time, last night I mean, he licked me all over my face. It was so foul. He called me his little snapdragon, waiting to be plucked. I know he wants to do it."

Pansy can’t help it, she begins openly crying. "You know what this means? We can't get married, Draco, not now. If we're already married, if it's already consummated, he'll have no excuse not to do it. To both of us, if I'm around. If he even likes that sort of thing.”

“We’re only seventeen. Signing a contract now is safe, for a couple of years.”

“Yes, but that locks us in. We can't break it without making a spectacle of ourselves. And we know each other so well that they may demand we wed sooner than later. If you turn me down now - and you can, you know you can, you've got the status here - then your parents have to keep looking. The whole process restarts. And we both know they're too preoccupied to begin negotiating with someone new at the moment.”

"But you just made a show of being the obedient daughter. That's what's keeping you out of sight. You father will marry you off to Goyle's cousin if I refuse you, you know that."

"I don't care! I won't let him touch you! You have to stay unpromised, Draco. Act like I'm not good enough for you, say I'm ugly, say I'm dumb, say anything. I'll marry what's-his-face distant Goyle and lay back and think of England if it keeps _him_ away from you."

Draco walks to the window and looks out over the grounds. "Now I've ruined your life, too."

"None of this is your fault, do you hear me?" she says fiercely.

"Do you think he'd hurt my mother if I killed myself?" he asks with a faraway look in his eyes.

Pansy sobs. "Don't you dare!"

Two fat silent tears wind their way down his pale cheeks. She's never seen him cry, although he confessed that Potter caught him at it once before nearly killing him. Then again, he's never seen her cry before, either. It takes a lot for a Slytherin to lose their cool.

“I suppose you're right. We could sign and hope things change soon, but we can't bet on that.” _We can't bet on Potter and his ragtag band winning,_ is what goes unsaid. Both Pansy and Draco are in silent agreement about their hopes for the outcome of the war, now.

How things change.

“I wanted it to be you, Draco.”

“I know.” He walks back over to her, and she expects him to embrace her, but he stops short. Maybe after everything, he just can't bear to touch her. So she gives him her best comforting smile and doesn't push it.

He does manage to raise one shaking hand and brush it along the side of her face, before pulling back abruptly.

“I could have loved you.”

Pansy wraps her arms around herself in a sad parody of the hug she so desperately wants but doesn’t dare ask for. “I was planning on it.”

  


**II**  


The war ends on a Saturday, and Draco is in Azkaban by Sunday.

It takes her two weeks to wrangle a visit; the Ministry is in shambles and no one knows who is in charge of the DMLE.

Finally, after countless memos and an impressive amount of pleading, she is led into a room and comes face to face with a harried-looking Hermione Granger, who is fending off a number of origami notes from various Ministry departments.

Granger has been everywhere after the final battle, in the Prophet every day and sometimes twice with an evening edition. Just yesterday she’d given an interview about how survivors of the war shouldn’t be ashamed to deal with their trauma using professional help, along with contact information for several St. Mungo’s support groups.

Potter has been suspiciously absent.

“What do you want, Parkinson?”

Pansy sneers. She knows she should act gracious, but old habits die hard, and how dare they put a Muggleborn who hasn’t even finished school in charge of justice around here?

“Who made you the authority on prison visits?”

“Interim Minister Shacklebolt. I’m only overseeing bail and visitation. A sort of triage, if you will. Decide who the most dangerous cases are and who can wait to be sorted out.”

Pansy doesn’t know what triage is, but she’ll be damned if she lets Granger call Draco _dangerous_ _._

“I want to see Draco Malfoy. I know he’s in Azkaban.”

“Visits with Azkaban prisoners are strictly regulated.”

“Well regulate me in, Granger. I need to ask him about his counsel.” She’s pulled that out of her arse. It seems to work though, as Granger looks thoughtful.

“I wondered who was paying for his solicitor, with the Malfoy vaults frozen.”

It takes every single lesson Pansy learned in Slytherin about not giving away your position to resist screaming at Granger over that revelation.

“I’ve got it handled. But I need to speak with him first, see what he wants to do. I’m not a lawyer, but I am the one setting things up, so I think I should be afforded that courtesy.” She’s pleased with herself for making up the lies as quickly as they occur to her.

Granger eyes her suspiciously, but four owls arrive at once and begin fighting over who gets to deliver their message first.

“Fine. I’ll send over the paperwork. Three days from now.”

They are the longest three days of Pansy’s life. She spends them making good on her claims and arranging for a solicitor.

***

The less said about Azkaban, the better. Even without the Dementors, the pervasive cold and malaise seep into her bones, and she rushes her Auror escort to the hall where prisoners awaiting trial are kept.

Two cells from the end, haggard and worn thin, is Draco. He sits on the ground, absently picking at a thread on the edge of his prison-issue tunic. It’s short-sleeved, barely defending against the chill, and prevents him from hiding the Mark.

Pansy shoves the Auror escort aside. “Legal advice is given in confidence. Please leave us.”

Luckily, Granger is so overwhelmed that she simply sent over the paperwork for a general legal visit, and the Auror is none the wiser. “I’ll be just down there, miss. No funny business, and you’ll get your wand back at the end of the visit. You have half an hour.”

She dismisses him with a sniff, and waits for him to reach the end of the hall before she crouches down.

“Draco? _Draco!_ ”

Draco starts, and his grey eyes widen. “ _Pansy?_ ”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you here to rot, did you?” The look on his face says that yes, that’s exactly what he expected, and it distresses her. “Dammit, Draco, you saved me, now it’s my turn.”

His look of pleased shock turns to one of despair. “There’s nothing you can do for me, Pansy.”

“Rubbish. There’s always a way.”

“Not out of everything.” _There wasn’t a way out for me,_ his eyes say, but Pansy isn’t giving up.

“You have a plan, right? What are you going to tell them?”

Draco bites his lip. “Well, Potter stopped them from arresting my mother, said she lied to the Dark Lord’s face. I figure she’s in a position to offer at least some testimony on how I was protecting her and was forced to take the Mark. I also didn’t identify Potter at the Manor, that has to count for something.” It’s risky, Pansy knows. They’ll give him Veritaserum, and even though the circumstances _did_ give him no choice, she also knows that Draco believed in much of the Death Eater cause, at least in the beginning. He needs to draw sympathy from the Wizengamot.

“If you tell them... everything... they'd feel terrible for you.”

He musters as stern a look as he is able. "Please don't be suggesting what I think you are.”

"They'll never believe you supported him after _that._ "

"No, they'll believe I was a whore."

The way he says it, self-deprecating like he thinks it's true, breaks her heart.

She shakes her head. "I can testify. I was there, I saw how awful it was for you."

"You didn't see _anything._ ”

"I saw you didn't want it! How can you call yourself a whore, Draco? He r-" the word sticks in her throat and he looks grateful she leaves it unvoiced.

"I'll be under Veritaserum. If I even _hint_ at what went on in that house, the prosecutor will ask for details. I can't go through that again, Pans. Telling you that little bit was bad enough before.”

Apprehensively, she asks, "...little bit?"

He smoothly ignores her and continues. “It would also jeopardise the contract my mother just presented me.”

This is news to Pansy, and she doesn't like being the last to get news. “Contract with who?”

“The Greengrasses.”

“They're willing to draw up drafts with someone facing prison?” It comes out harsher than she wanted, but he takes pity on her and doesn't react.

“Old man Greengrass blew most of their fortune in Muggle casinos while they waited out the war in America. It’s a terrible scandal waiting to break, and they’re nouveau-riche to begin with. They need the attention on an engagement, and they desperately need the money. If I go free, I get the Manor, the fortune, the whole thing. After Potter got my mother off, they can’t very well kick her out, anyway. And even if they strip my father of his wealth and don’t allow it to pass, I get much of the Black fortune through her. Prison or not, I’m still an attractive prospect to someone so desperate. They may even have to sell the house, so they need to place their daughters fast.”

“Which one is it?” She won’t be able to stand it if he’s marrying Daphne. She was positively heinous to Pansy in school, when she could do it behind Draco’s back.

“Astoria. The younger one.” He gives her a knowing look. “I would have rioted if it was Daphne, she was awful then and I’m sure she’s awful now. I’m not having a wife who won’t have you to tea.” Not so much behind his back, then.

“Well, she's beautiful. I can't think of a prettier Slytherin.” Now Pansy's the self-deprecating one. Astoria is all blond curls and simpering smile; Pansy is lank dark hair and upturned nose. She feared this from the beginning. Their friendship and hopes aside, Draco's always been out of her league: more attractive, higher in society. She's been braced for impact for years.

He regards her under long lashes, still able to take her breath away even exhausted and in prison garb. “She's not you.”

Pansy reaches through the bars suddenly to take his hand, desperately needing the contact, hoping Draco will permit it. He grips back tightly.

“We'll still be friends. We'll _always_ be friends. I'm already refusing to move off to Germany with cousin Goyle. He can come here.”

"Do you even know his name?"

“I just decline to use it.” They both laugh, an uncommon sound in a depressing place.

But the noise echoing off the damp walls takes the mirth out of them, and they both lapse back into silence. Pansy knows her time is short.

“Please, Draco,” she begs. “Please, if they don’t listen to how you did it for your mother, tell them everything. Disgraced and disowned is better than being in this place. Being a _squib_ would be better than this place. Who cares what people think.”

“You don’t understand, Pansy, it was… it would destroy me if people knew. I can’t think about anything else, trapped in this hell. Everything he did to me just runs through my mind on a constant loop. The only hope I have is that I’ll get out and build a life and be able to forget. If it was public, it would never go away.”

“But it wasn’t your fault,” she says. He has to know that, right?

"He made me suck him once,” he confesses abruptly. "Right before the end. After Potter escaped. Said the proper place for a Malfoy was on their knees before him. It hurt. My knees, I mean. It seemed like it took him forever to come. He did it on my face."

She doesn't say anything, just holds his hand through the bars. The dead look slowly returns to his eyes. This place is going to kill him, Pansy can feel it. For all of Granger's self-righteousness, she isn't wrong about trauma and the need to deal with it.

And now Pansy knows what she has to do. To save Draco, she has to betray him.

***

Potter slides onto the bench across from her at the Muggle pub. "Ok, I got your owl, tell me what this is about and why we're here, Parkinson."

She didn't allow Voldemort to scare her, she won't let Harry Potter. "I didn't want to be overheard. I need to talk to you about Draco, about his trial."

"Is that why I'm here?" Potter rolls his eyes. "Malfoy's only facing five years. He might not even get that."

"He won't survive five years. He might not even make it through one."

"Maybe he should have thought about that before standing by while Hermione was tortured. He made his bed, he can lie in it."

"He wasn't the only one in that bed."

"We barely got out of his house alive."

"I don't know if he even did." Potter blinks. "You think that what, half a day you were in Malfoy Manor was bad for you? Tell me, how is Granger faring when she wakes up at night screaming for Bellatrix to stop? After just one encounter with the bitch. Draco lived there for months."

Potter rises abruptly. "I don't have to listen to this, especially from you. I came because I thought you might want to apologise for a certain incident." She jumps to her feet and follows him out the door, the bartender glaring at their backs since they didn't order anything. She catches up to him in the alley where he's probably planning to Apparate.

"This spot is perfect."

"For what, me getting the hell away from you?"

"No. I have to show you something." She draws a vial and a small stone bowl from her pocket. The overly large hoodie blends in with Muggles, but reminds her of robes.

"What's that?" Potter asks warily.

"It's a Pensieve."

"It's pretty small."

"It's for short memories, and for public viewing." She pours the tiny vial into the bowl. "You need to see this. But you also need to swear you'll never tell another soul. I'm counting on your Gryffindor honour, Potter. If Draco knew about this, he'd find a Dementor to snog."

"Fine. This better be good."

"I assure you it's not."

She swirls her wand in the liquid, and an image of Draco is projected on the back wall of the pub. It's transparent, so the bricks show through, and his prison-diluted pallor is almost white.

"So he's in Azkaban, so what? I already knew that. Hurry up, Parkinson."

"It's only about thirty seconds long."

Potter snorts. He looks ready to bolt at any moment. "You think that's long enough to change my mind about him?"

"You tell me." And with that, Pansy twitches her wand to begin the memory.

" _But it wasn’t your fault._ " The voice of an off-screen Pansy sounds less reassuring to her ears now than when she was with Draco.

" _He made me suck him once. Right before the end._ "

Potter's mouth falls open. He could catch flies - that's not just a saying, they're in a back alley near a bin.

" _After Potter escaped. Said the proper place_..." Pansy tunes this out. She's heard it once already. Instead she concentrates on Potter as the extent of Draco's torment is made clear to him.

"... _did it on my face._ "

The image of Draco falls silent. Pansy swirls her wand to stop the memory from replaying as Potter lurches toward the bin and retches against the side of it. Pansy waits for him to catch his breath and wipe his mouth before he makes his way back over.

"How-" Potter appears to retch again, but stops. "How long?"

"It started not long after he fled Hogwarts in sixth year." She’s guessing.

"Oh, god," Potter says faintly. He seems to compose himself a bit. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"You can testify. Get him out of there. Not about _this_ _._ Plead his case, his youth, tell them about when he didn't identify you - yes, I know about that. The Wizengamot will listen to _you,_ you know they will."

"Why is it so important he not be in Azkaban?"

"Are you serious, Potter?" she yells. "He needs time and space to deal with this. You think Azkaban is the place for someone who was-" she can't bring herself to say the word. She knows it, but saying it is so harsh, so real.

Potter stands there troubled, but doesn't answer.

Pansy knows she has to say it out loud, if only to jar Potter. _It wasn't even you,_ she tells herself. _It happened to him, and he_ saved _you from it, so you need to be strong enough to help him._

"Azkaban’s not the place for someone to come to terms with being raped."

Potter spins away to lean against the wall where the disturbing memory was projected just a moment before, breathing harshly. Pansy stands there patiently.

Eventually he gets a hold of himself. "Will he talk to someone if I get him probation? Like a counsellor?"

 _Finally._ "Yes. I'll make him."

They stand there together, two adults who should still be children, in a dirty Muggle alley. Two people on different sides of a war, but knowing what true suffering is.

At last Potter breaks the silence. "I'll do it."

***

"Why did you try to turn me over to him?" Potter asks her, as they sit in the hallway outside the Wizengamot chambers. She has come to Draco's trial for moral support. She's not here to testify; she saw his face when he caught sight of her earlier, terrified she was there to try to gain him mercy by spilling his secrets. She’d shook her head at him reassuringly.

"It's a complicated question. I didn't want him near me, near the school, near Draco. If you went to him, he wouldn’t be there. You had to fight him in the end, anyways."

A beat. "You didn't want him to win."

"Circe, no."

After a few more moments of quiet, "Will you and Draco be OK now?"

Pansy is aghast. "Be _OK?_ Are you serious? You know it's not that easy."

"No, I mean, you and he, I thought... I mean, together..." he trails off.

"That ship sailed for Draco and I long ago." She can't keep the wistful tone from her voice.

He stares at her knowingly, with not a small amount of wonder. "You love him."

"Yes." It doesn't cost her anything to admit it. "I used to only think I did. But I didn't know what real love was then."

"You do now?"

"I finally do. But there are contracts and considerations and obligations.... it never ends."

"Yeah, I saw your engagement announcement in the _Prophet._ You're going to stick to that, then? Even if it doesn’t make you happy?"

“My happiness isn’t the point.” It comes out rehearsed, and she doesn’t know if she believes it anymore.

"Mr. Potter?" A shrivelled old wizard appears. "It's your turn to testify."

Potter rises, but turns back to her before he goes through the imposing double doors.

"We just survived a war, Pansy. You two should do whatever you want."

  
  


**III**

 

The first time she sees Draco after Potter gets him off the hook ( _The Boy Who Forgives! Savior Testifies on Behalf of Malfoy Heir_ the _Prophet_ had trumpeted) they are standing in his bedroom once more. It’s been two weeks, and Potter’s words have been rattling around in her thoughts the whole time.

They don’t bother to sneak up the back stairs; Narcissa glides through the house like a ghost, avoiding her son, and Draco is all too happy to be left alone. No one mentions Lucius, sentenced to Azkaban for life.

Draco still looks exhausted, but he sinks into a wing chair with palpable relief. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel right here again, but it’s measures beyond prison.”

A house elf, much less terrified than last time, appears and sets a tray between them. She takes a teacup.

“You can move somewhere else. Get a flat, build something new, whatever. You’re free now.”

“I can never thank you enough for hiring a solicitor, Pans. I’ve already directed a vault transfer to pay you back the second ours are unfrozen.”

“Don’t even think of it. Besides, he mostly just made sure procedure was followed. Potter did the rest.” Draco seems discomfited at the mention of his old school rival.

“I thanked him at the Wizengamot, but I suppose I’ll have to send him a formal letter or something soon. I’d rather eat glass.” Pansy knows she will never tell him her role in getting Potter to testify.

“Well, it’s only onward and upward from here, darling.” They both sip the tea, letting it warm them, but Draco still appears troubled.

“I’m not, of course.”

“Not what?” she asks.

“Free.”

“Probation isn’t terrible, and it’s only two years before you are allowed to leave the country again. Maybe you can buy property in France.”

He puts the teacup down harder than necessary. “No, I mean I’ll never be free. There’s endless legalities with paperwork over the money, title transfers with the house, and a wedding to plan on top of that. It never ends.”

“Yes, I’ve got a wedding to plan, as well. I’ve asked for a delay on that, but who knows. It won’t be this year, though.”

“The Greengrasses are pushing for three months, while my sad, tragic story is still front page news. I think they want to be seen as ‘forgiving’ just like Our Savior.”

It’s a bit of a shock for Pansy. “That’s… very quick.”

Draco glances around, like he’s afraid of being heard, even though they are the only people on this side of the house. “How am I going to go through with it? I’ll… I won’t be able to touch her.” His shame is written across his face. “I can barely let my mother embrace me.”

Pansy hasn’t even tried to touch him past the hand-holding while he was in prison, but that’s because she knows. Astoria won’t, and she’ll expect to be taken to bed on their wedding night.

“Draco, I wondered… have you tried talking to anyone? Someone at St. Mungo’s, I mean.”

“Merlin, no. What if someone found out?”

“They aren’t allowed to tell anyone. It’s all very confidential.”

He glares at her. “Yes, I’ve read Granger’s interviews in the paper. I don’t want to relieve it. I want to _forget._ ”

“You think you’ll be able to forget while she’s undressing you?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows it was the wrong thing to say, but she has a growling monster inside of her and it’s getting harder to control. He goes pale. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“You’re making me wish I hadn't told you, either. I never thought you of all people would judge me.”

“Draco, no! I’m not judging you.” How could she, anyways? He’s given her all his secrets, and it was her idea back then to go their separate ways. She doesn't want to lose his confidence, so she has to be honest with him. “I’m just jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“I don’t like hearing you talk about marrying someone else.” She hangs her head. “I don’t want you to think you can’t confide in me. But I’m not a professional, and I can’t tell you how to deal with this situation.”

“I’ll just have to get over it.”

Pansy knows that isn’t healthy. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Who knows how it works?” She can see him unravelling, and the little voice inside that whispers _why are we putting ourselves through this?_ is getting louder.

“It isn’t going to be over just because you want it to be.”

Draco jumps to his feet and flings his teacup at the wall. It shatters on impact. She’s seen him lose his temper, but never so quickly, and she flinches.

“It’s never over! Never! I was trapped then, I was trapped in Azkaban, and I’m trapped now! I just want to be alone for a while! I just want to get out of this godforsaken house and be _alone!_ ”

“Then do it! Do what you want!” She never thought she’d be quoting Harry Potter, but he’s right. They lived. They need to _live._

“Draco, we survived. What did our parents get us anyways? Fuck it!” He’s shocked at her vulgarity, but she continues, on a roll now, all the things lying asleep in her heart finally bursting to the surface. She jumps from her chair as well and lets her cup clatter to the floor. “Tear up your marriage contract, get a flat in London, lie low while you deal with things. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me- Pansy, what are you saying?”

“Oh, I’ll tear mine up, as well.”

He’s watching her in awe, like she’s an avenging angel, swooping down to voice all the things he never dared to. It gives her a burst of courage fit for a Gryffindor.

“Draco Malfoy, I love you. I _love_ you, and we are eighteen years old, and you are going to move out of this house and take care of yourself!”

“What about you?”

“I’ll survive. I’ll take care of myself, as well. We’ll take care of each other.” Before her uncommon bravado fades, she adds, “And when you feel ready, you are going to take me on a date.”

At his look of uncomfortable shock, she wonders if she’s crossed a line. Maybe he’ll never be ready, and it’s really not the point. She’s trying to get him to think of himself, after all.

“Nevermind all that. I won't ever ask you for more than you are willing to give.”

A shadow of his old self returns, and he grins. “It’s just highly improper for you to do the asking, Miss Parkinson. Very forward of you.”

She blushes. “I’m doing what I want now, too.”

  


**IV**  


Five years after throwing caution to the wind and her marriage contract out the window, Pansy Parkinson meets Harry Potter once more. She’s getting a little treat in Sugarplums Sweet Shop, and he’s there with a green-haired child.

“I saw your engagement announcement in the paper. Again.” He’s smirking like a know-it-all, and she has to take him down a peg. It’s instinct.

“It’s in the Slytherin nature to trade up. Something you wouldn’t understand.” He seems get the insult directed towards his wife, but doesn’t rise to take the bait.

“I’d consider Malfoy more of a trade-in, but whatever floats your boat.”

“You aren’t invited to the wedding, Potter. Don’t get any ideas.” It’s going to be a small affair, anyways.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Probably going to be boring as hell.”

“You mean tasteful.”

“But no, for real, Parkinson.” He turns a sincere look towards her. “I’m glad the two of you got what you wanted. Are you happy?”

Are they? She thinks they are. Their flat in London could be bigger, and Draco could sleep better, and her work hours as a low-level ministry grunt could be shorter. He still attends a weekly session at St. Mungo’s, and she doesn’t talk to her parents. Her decision to negate a binding contract caused quite a stir, and her subsequent decision to move in with Draco a year later after he finally felt ready to be around people again nearly drove her mother spare. Narcissa simply sighed and informed the Greengrasses behind closed doors, her guilt an ugly personal thing that Pansy has never come to terms with.

But they see each other every morning, and kiss each other goodnight, and have genuine laughter and smiles in between. He still takes her on a date each month, and sometimes lets her do the asking. When they were finally intimate, three years after the war, it felt like both defiance and a homecoming.

“Living in sin, Pansy. What would our illustrious forebearers think of us?” he teased her just last night when heading to bed. He still won’t sleep naked, but he doesn’t try to hide his scars from her, neither the Mark nor the ones in his heart. She lives there too, with his demons, and hopes she occupies the larger space. Even after she’d thrown away her old life for him, pledged her devotion with every kiss and 3 am cup of tea, his hands had trembled when he proposed.

She sighs, and reassures Potter, owing him an answer at the least.

“Yes. We’re happy.”

And finally that is the point.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr.](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)


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